


Time Can Heal

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Friendship, Guilt, Hope, Injury, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Minor Character Death, Recovery, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky loses his arm overseas and the man who saved his life is in a coma, he thinks that things will never get better. But he holds on to the hope that Steve Rogers will wake up so he can thank him and slowly starts to heal along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Can Heal

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is slightly more maudlin than a lot of my other stuff but hopefully not too maudlin.

Bucky screamed as the barrage of gunfire hit the crumbling wall of the decimated building inches from his head. He tried to crouch, to scrabble into the ground as much as he could but the bullets were relentless. Grit and debris peppered his helmet and face and he sobbed out harsh breaths as each minute seemed to stretch on for hours. He was pinned. He was also fucked.

 _This is how I'm going to die,_ he thought to himself.

He looked around him; there was no way he could move without getting torn apart by the gunfire. How many bullets did they have? It was never ending. He had run when the first truck in the convoy had exploded and Morita and Dugan had been right behind him but somewhere in the ensuing firefight, they had lost each other and now here he was, trapped and alone. His tears felt hot and stinging against his face. It couldn't end like this, it just couldn't.

He screamed for help but he may as well have been screaming underwater; his voice was lost in the surrounding noise, in the vacuum of violence around him. He hugged his gun to his chest and tried to curl up, praying that it would stop, that it would please just fucking stop.

_I don't want to die like this, please I don't want to -_

Something heavy landed in front of him and he screamed again, certain it was an enemy soldier ready to kill him but it was an American soldier, not from his unit but crouching in front of him with...a door. A fucking _door_ from one of the trucks that had blown up, using it as best he could like a shield.

"It's okay, we're going to get out of this," the guy shouted over the gunfire. He was leaning over Bucky. "I won't leave you here."

Bucky nodded frantically, willing to believe that this guy could get them both to safety, willing to believe anything at the moment.

"After three, jump up, stay behind me and run as fast as you can," the soldier said, his blue eyes wide but steady as bullet after bullet ricocheted off of the truck's door. Bucky had no idea how he could be holding it up so easily - those things were armoured and weighed a _ton_ \- but he just nodded again, shifting to get his legs underneath himself, ready to spring.

The guy took a deep breath. "One...two... _three_!"

They leapt up and Bucky just ran, staying as close to the other soldier as he could, his heart threatening to rip his chest apart with it's thumping, adrenaline flooding his body. The other guy was fast and he held the door as he ran, legs pumping. Bucky looked ahead of them and there was another building, bombed out but intact enough to offer vital cover.

"Building, twenty meters!" Bucky shouted and the other soldier shouted something back, his voice lost in the noise.

The building got closer and closer and there was an opening, _thank Christ there was an opening_ and they both threw themselves forwards into the sheltered space, diving onto the floor out of sight from the smashed windows. The gunfire outside continued, but Bucky could hear and he could breathe. The other soldier finally lowered the truck door, crying out in pain, his arms shaking. Shit, the adrenaline must have kept him going; Bucky didn't think anyone could easily lift one of those things, let alone _run_ with it.

"You're not from the 107th," Bucky gasped, scooting close, his back to the wall beneath the blown out windows.

The soldier shook his head, sweat running down his face. "The 81st. We were doing recon over by the old highway, saw your convoy get hit and came as soon as we could." He turned to Bucky and scanned his face. "Did you get hurt? Are you okay?"

Bucky swallowed. The gunfire outside was subsiding. "I'm fine. Almost wasn't." He'll wish he had said _thanks to you_.

The other guy smiled and it was bright and genuine and the best thing Bucky had seen for days. "I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

"I'm Bu - "

And then the world exploded.

***

When Bucky woke up stateside in a military hospital, they told him that Morita and Dugan were dead, along with several other men from his unit. They had been cut down after the attack on their trucks, not far behind Bucky when they had all ran for cover. Bucky let the grief take him over and grasped onto it for as long as he could before it could turn into guilt. Guilt that he could have done something besides running and assuming that they would be right behind him and okay. Then they told him about his arm. He held out from looking as long as he could and when he finally did, he couldn't stop crying. He cried for his friends and his arm and how fucked up everything was and how nothing would ever be the same again.

A few hours later when he was spent from weeping, his eyes stinging and sore, he asked about Steve Rogers, the soldier who had saved him. The doctor said he didn't know and that he would try and find something out for him but he needed rest and should sleep. Bucky had nodded but he was too terrified to close his eyes again - what would he see in his dreams? He didn't want to find out. He decided to stay awake as long as he possibly could, only giving in to sleep when his body absolutely had to. Eventually it gave out and he dreamt of explosions and gunfire and a soldier with piercing blue eyes.

***

He couldn't remember what had happened after Steve had told Bucky his name. There had been blackness and occasional glimpses of things as he had flitted in and out of consciousness: People above him shouting, being carried, turning his head and vomiting violently onto the floor of a flatbed truck. Pain. So much pain. No-one had told him anything about Steve yet and Bucky wished that he had thanked him. There had been enough time to say thank you at least but he hadn't. The thought that he might never get to thank him made him feel sick all over again.

***

"Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky turned and there was a military officer in the doorway to his room. He was young, around his own age if Bucky had to guess. He had soft brown eyes and an easy-going manner. He was holding his hat in his hands. Bucky nodded.

"I'm Corporal Wilson. Can I come in?"

Bucky nodded again and Wilson came in and stood by his bed. Bucky indicated to one of the chairs against the wall. "You can sit if you want."

Wilson pulled one of the chairs up to Bucky's bed, sitting down and placing his hat on the night stand.

"The guy who saved you is my best friend," he said simply.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat. He said _is_ and not _was_. "Steve's alive?"

"You know him?" Wilson asked, raising one eyebrow.

Bucky shook his head. "He told me his name before...before whatever happened happened. That's all I know. People don't seem to want to tell me much." He indicated to the stump of his left arm. "It's not like things could get any worse by telling me."

Wilson smiled then, but it was a sad smile. "I guess not. The man who saved you is Captain Steven Rogers. I've served with him for three years now and he's done a lot of stupid shit in his life. But picking up a fucking APC door and using it a shield? _That_ was a new one on me." He shook his head. "I swear, I looked away for a second to reload and when I looked up he was running into the line of fire with that door." Wilson smiled a little again. "One thing you should know about Steve: He's the most selfless man I've ever met but he thinks with his heart more than he thinks with his head. But then you probably wouldn't be here right now otherwise."

Bucky frowned and lay his head back against the starchy hospital pillows. "We ran into a building and then...I don't know. I remember an explosion maybe?"

Wilson nodded. "It was a projectile from a rocket launcher across the street. Totally decimated the building you were in but then apparently it was just barely standing when you used it for cover. I don't know how, but that door Steve had saved you both, took the brunt of the explosion." He looked at Bucky's heavily bandaged shoulder. "Maybe not completely but you're alive."

Bucky didn't want to say anything bitter and ungrateful so he said nothing. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"So what about Steve...Captain Rogers? Something happened to him."

Wilson looked down at his lap, his brow creasing in hurt. "He's in a coma. The door was covering you more than it was him and the falling bricks and shit just...he was out when they found you both and he hasn't woken up but he's still alive. You were lucky that you were both found when you were. I don't want to think what might have..." He trailed off.

Bucky blinked back the tears in his eyes. "Do they think he'll ever wake up?" He didn't think he could take it if Steve died, not without having said thank you. He couldn't have another death on his hands.

Wilson shrugged. "It could go either way. They don't know. Or if they do, they don't want to commit. But Steve's strong. I have faith that he'll pull through."

"Where is he?"

Wilson sat back in the chair and rubbed his face. Bucky hadn't realised how tired he looked. "He's here, in the ICU. I've been with him since they brought you both in ten days ago. Checked up on you a few times while you were out." He held his hands up and made a face. "Not in a creepy way, I swear."

Bucky managed a smile then. He liked this guy. "I'm usually better looking than this."

Wilson smiled back. "I'll take your word for that."

"Thanks Corporal, for talking to me."

"Call me Sam."

Bucky held out his right hand. "Bucky."

***

Bucky improved slowly over the next couple of days, physically if not mentally. He was exhausted; exhausted from the constant barrage of doctors and therapists and technicians talking about prosthetic arms and programs he could apply for to get a _better_ prosthetic arm. The only person who didn't exhaust him was Sam who came to see him every day. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they just sat in silence but it was never uncomfortable. Sam understood.

All he wanted to do was sleep. All he could think about was the last time his unit had been together, the night before the attack. They had been happy and laughing and alive. And now most of them were dead. The guy who saved his life was in a coma and Bucky felt like he didn't deserve to be here listening to how he was a hero. A hero for doing what? He had done nothing besides panic, get trapped and then fuck up someone else's life. Apparently his and Steve's run to the building that would eventually collapse on them was enough of a distraction for a particularly nasty militant group to be captured after years of evasion.

 _Great,_ Bucky thought. _All it took was a pile of bodies_. A pile of bodies that were currently stacked up in his conscience, rotting away and seeping into his being.

He cried himself to sleep every night.

***

He was sick of being in bed but he was _under observation_. He knew what that really meant. _We know you blame yourself for your friend's deaths and we think you might try and kill yourself so you're staying here_. His door was always open, nurses always coming to see him, someone always "just checking in."

One morning he threw off his covers and stood up, still not used to the unnatural shift of weight by only having one arm. It was strange how his balance felt totally off and he paced in his room for a few minutes, just to get the blood flowing in his legs and figure out how to hold his upper body. Then he slipped out of his room and looked for the ICU. No-one paid him any attention which was good. His regular nurses would notice soon though and come looking for him. The ICU was two floors above his and the pretty blond nurse on the front desk eyed him with concern, her eyes immediately fixing on his bandages.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I...I need to see Steve Rogers."

The nurse scrutinised him. "Are you a relative?"

Bucky pointed to his shoulder. "Do I look like a relative? He saved my life. I just need to see him for a few minutes. You'll probably get a call that a patient is missing from the third floor and that he's "emotionally compromised" or some shit which...isn't totally untrue. But I just want to see the man that put his life on the line to save mine. Just for a minute."

The nurse watched him, considering, and then her face softened and she stood up. "Alright. But _just_ for a few minutes. Come on." She indicated for him to follow.

They walked down a corridor lined with private rooms. The nurse glanced at him. "I'm Sharon. I've been looking after Captain Rogers since he was brought in. I've heard about you."

Bucky gave her a wan smile. "Guess there aren't many guys in here with just one arm."

"You'd be surprised. You're not that special."

Bucky looked at her in astonishment and saw the slight smirk on her face. He chuffed out a little laugh. This was better than the pitying looks or the intense eye contact that deliberately avoided the space where his arm used to be. He needed this.

"I guess not," he said and Sharon smiled.

She led him to a door on the left and opened it, staying outside. "Three minutes and then you get back downstairs. Deal?"

Bucky slowly approached the door. "Deal." He could hear the steady beep of an ECG machine and he peered around the corner. Steve looked like he was sleeping and Bucky would almost have believed it if not for the heavy bruising on his face. Bucky walked over to his bed and looked down at him. His blond hair was matted and stuck to his head, his eyelids were almost blue. Sharon watched him carefully from the door.

"Could someone at least wash his hair or something?" Bucky said quietly.

"I'll see to it," Sharon said softly.

Bucky lifted Steve's hand gently. He felt warm but his fingers were limp and heavy. "You have to wake up so I can thank you," he said. He squeezed Steve's hand and then gently placed it back on the bed at his side. Bucky wiped his eyes, not realizing that he'd started to cry.

He turned back to Sharon. "Can I come and see him again?"

Sharon held out her hand and Bucky took it, walking with her back down the corridor after she closed the door to Steve's room. "I'll see to it," she simply said again.

***

He went up to the ICU to see Steve every day. The first time it had been arranged, Sam came down to meet him and walked up with him.

"This would mean a lot to him," Sam said as they greeted Sharon and then carried on down the corridor to Steve's room.

Sam pulled up both chairs and sat down with a grunt in one of them. Bucky noticed that Steve's hair had been washed since he saw him last and it was soft and neatly combed. He sat next to Sam, glad he was wearing the hoodie and sweatpants he'd managed to cajole out of one of the nurses instead of the hospital gown he'd been living in.

"So I meant to ask, are you on leave or what?" Bucky asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, managed to pull some strings. I'm working on getting stationed somewhere over here if I can. I want to stay close to this dumb-ass."

"Can you tell me about him?"

"Sure," Sam said with a grin. The ECG had been turned down and was now a soft pulsing sound in the background. "He's a total goofball. Funny, kind, honest, but he can be annoying as all hell too. In the field he's just...incredible. Commanding without being patronising, reliable. The kind of guy you'd happily crawl over broken glass for. He's the most decent man I've ever met."

"He got any bad qualities? I'm starting to feel really inadequate here," Bucky said, only half joking.

"He sometimes doesn't think before wading into a situation; it's like these blinkers come down and he just...okay, example: We were on leave one time a couple of years back and went to a bar for a few drinks. It was a bit of a dive but we were excited to be out and we didn't care. These two guys started to make trouble and ended up pushing this smaller guy around. He hadn't even _done_ anything and Steve says "I need to stop that before it gets ugly" because nobody else was making a move. I had a bad feeling about the two guys though and was about to warn Steve to step back for a sec and we'd think about how to handle it. But he was already halfway there and strode right in between everyone. Turns out, my instincts had been right. One of the guys pulled a knife and jammed it into Steve's shoulder. Next thing I know, both guys are on the floor out cold and Steve is just standing there with a knife sticking out of him saying "Can somebody please call the police." I had to _remind_ him that he'd probably need an ambulance too."

He stood up and gently pulled Steve's hospital gown aside at the neck. There was an ugly scar on his shoulder, healed but gnarled and shiny. "He'd kill me for showing you this."

Bucky could feel the guilt that was a constant part of himself now flaring fresh. "So...he didn't even think twice about running in to save me."

Sam readjusted Steve's gown and squeezed his shoulder, a friendly but tender gesture that made Bucky's heart twist. "Yeah. But that's just Steve all over."

Bucky lowered his head. "He shouldn't have done it. It's my fault that he's..."

"Bucky, no. You can't think like that. It was Steve's choice to help you and I know he'd be glad of that choice to see you sitting here right now." Sam tentatively placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky couldn't respond; _he_ didn't feel glad to be here, awake and alive when a man who was clearly a better person than he'd ever be was lying here comatose, his life passing him by a day at a time.

***

Sam wouldn't be able to come in to the hospital for a week, maybe two and stopped by to tell Bucky. "Work stuff but once I get it all sorted out, hopefully it'll mean more time to come here. You'll keep seeing him, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I won't let him get lonely."

Sam grinned. "He'd really like you, you know. I hope he gets to meet you."

Bucky went to Steve's room every day at noon to spend an hour with him. His therapist didn't think it was a good idea, that it might do more harm than good for him if Bucky got attached to the _idea_ of Steve and he either didn't wake up or woke up and didn't live up to the person that Bucky had constructed in his mind. Bucky didn't give a shit what his therapist thought; Steve had saved his life and Steve deserved his time. The bruising on Steve's face had faded and his features were strong but had a vulnerability to them, even in sleep. He was tall and well-built and Bucky caught himself staring for longer than was appropriate one time and immediately felt shame for it. He had felt like he was taking advantage and every time since had stayed close to the head of Steve's bed, refusing to look anywhere past his chest. Sometimes he took Steve's hand and occasionally squeezed it, hoping each time that he'd feel Steve squeeze back.

***

One afternoon, there was a woman in Steve's room. He never saw any other visitors during the time he spent with Steve so he was surprised to see the pretty redhead sitting on the other side of the bed, brushing her hand gently through Steve's hair with affection. He froze in the doorway when she looked up at him, unsure of what to do.

"Hello," the woman said.

"Hi. I'm sorry, I'll come back..."

She stood up. "Don't go. You're James Barnes, right?"

Bucky just nodded.

The redhead walked around the bed and held out her hand. She didn't look at Bucky's lack of an arm but she wasn't _not_ looking at it either. Her intense green eyes were fixed on his face, curious. "I'm Natasha."

"Nice to meet you."

Natasha smiled. "You too. Sam's told me a lot about you. He says you're a great guy."

Bucky glanced away. "Sam's way too nice."

Natasha folded her arms and looked over at Steve, a small sigh escaping her. "I wanted to get here sooner but I was in Russia on assignment. I'm back on a plane this evening. It kills me that I can't stay with him."

"Are you Steve's girlfriend?"

Natasha laughed softly and shook her head. "No, just a good friend." She walked back around the bed to her chair and sat down. "Stay and talk with me." It was a gentle request and Bucky sat in his usual spot next to Steve's bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"How are you?" Natasha asked. "I can't imagine what you must be going through."

Bucky shrugged, the sensation strange without an arm to move. His shoulder just seemed to twitch with the gesture. "Kind of numb."

Natasha's gaze was too intense for him and he couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. "We're all lucky if we can come away with our lives, if not everything that made us whole when we left."

"Are you military too?"

"Special Ops." She didn't elaborate and Bucky didn't ask.

He turned to look down at Steve again. "He didn't even consider his own safety when he jumped in to help me. I...I don't think I could have done what he did. Does that make me an awful person?"

"Not in the slightest. Steve has... _issues_ with his own self-preservation. We all thought that something like this might happen one day. But that's just the kind of person he is. Always thinking about everyone else before himself."

Bucky hunched into himself. "I ran and left my friends and they got killed. Steve's in a coma because of me. I'm...I don't feel like I was worth saving." His voice was barely a whisper and he immediately felt embarrassed for saying such a thing to someone he didn't even know.

Natasha reached across Steve and took Bucky's hand. "Steve would disagree with you fully on that one. Trust me."

"But...he doesn't even know me. None of you know me."

Natasha didn't let go of his hand. "True, but Sam likes you and I like Sam and I don't like a lot of people. And you've been coming in to see Steve every day without fail which makes me like you."

"I need to be able to thank him. I can't have him not know that I...that...he..." Bucky pulled his hand away from Natasha's and put it over his face.

He heard Natasha sigh again and it was sad and heavy. "He'll know, James."

***

Bucky was fitted for his new arm, a cast taken of the stump that was now part of him instead of a working limb. He was told that the prosthetic wouldn't be totally practical, not right away at least and he was added to a waiting list for a new program involving robotics or something. He didn't really care, just nodded along with the specialists. His doctor agreed that he could leave the hospital early next week, no longer under observation, but that he would be following a strict schedule of follow-up appointments and therapy. He tried not to think about what he would do when he left the hospital. An apartment had been arranged for him, the few things he owned would be brought out of storage where they had been since he had joined the military. He had his army pension that would cover him financially and there was a job program for vets that he could apply for but he didn't want to think about it. He was discharged and no longer a soldier and he had no idea what purpose he served now, if he even _had_ a purpose. Bucky questioned who he even _was_ now.

He went to see Steve as often as he could. There was no change in his condition, good or bad, and he remained in that eerie deep sleep looking peaceful, but Bucky wondered if the same tortured dreams that ran through his own head night after night ran through Steve's too. He was no longer considered critical and was moved to another private room on the fourth floor. Bucky would be sad not to see Sharon as much but she wanted to keep up-to-date on Steve's progress and promised to come and see him whenever she could. He didn't see Natasha again and assumed that she was doing whatever work it was that she couldn't talk about.

Bucky spent every day learning how to do everything with the guilt that weighed heavy on him as a constant companion. Wake up, feel guilty. Eat the bland hospital breakfast, feel guilty. Watch TV, feel guilty. His therapist said that survivor's guilt was common in his situation. Bucky knew it, he did. It made him angry and confused and he sat in silence wanting more than anything to tell the therapist to shut up, that knowing that this feeling was a condition and had a name didn't make him feel any better and like he deserved to be here while his friends were rotting in the ground and Steve was as good as dead.

The day before he was due to be released from the hospital, Bucky went to the fourth floor to see Steve again, an hour later than he usually did because of yet another consultation about his arm. When he opened the door, there was a petite blond woman sitting in the chair Bucky usually sat in, a book open on her lap. When she turned to look at him, she had the same sky blue eyes that Steve had. Bucky's heart sank because he knew she was Steve's mother. Surely she would blame him for what had happened to her son? No-one else would but she _had_ to.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Bucky said. "I'm...Steve saved my life. He's in a coma because of me."

The woman - Mrs Rogers - stood up and Bucky waited for the stinging slap across his face, for the shouting and accusing but...there wasn't any. Mrs Rogers stepped forward and grasped Bucky in a tight hug. He choked back a sob, not quite able to bring himself to hug her back. She pulled away and her eyes were full of acceptance and kindness.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," she said and Bucky wanted to cry. Her son was in a coma. He might never wake up and if he did, God knows what damage may have been done but here she was caring about what had happened to _him_.

"But...Steve..."

Mrs Rogers still had a hand on his right arm and it was warm and gentle. "Steve's strong, honey. All we can do is wait. I'm Sarah."

"B-Bucky."

Sarah smiled again and motioned for him to come and sit with her. He pulled up the other chair beside Steve's bed. Sarah took Steve's hand and rubbed her thumb across his fingers. "Sharon told me about a young man who has been visiting my son every day. I'm glad I finally got to meet him."

Bucky swallowed. "It's...I'm so sorry."

Sarah shook her head. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for."

"Everybody keeps saying that."

"Then maybe you should believe it. I couldn't be more happy that you're here and alive and that Steve had something to do with that."

Bucky didn't know what to say to her.

"I know that Sam has told you a little about Steve but would you like to hear some more?" She said it softly and he knew that she wouldn't be offended if he said no, but he wanted to know more about this man who had such a strong hold on the people around him, Bucky included. He nodded.

Sarah proceeded to tell him stories from Steve's childhood, what kind of kid he was, how he couldn't stand it whenever someone was being bullied or picked on and would offer support or friendship and more often than not, fists and bruises. She told him stories of stray animals kept secret under Steve's bed, his favorite color, what food he liked, his middle name, his favorite song. The stories were funny and warm and he couldn't help but laugh along with her. Bucky remembered what his therapist had said about the idea of Steve and he thought about Sam and Natasha and Sarah and how much they loved this man and the idea of Steve didn't seem all that far from the reality of Steve. But all of that also made him desperately sad. Bucky had nothing to lose the day he had got pinned under gunfire. Steve had everything.

Sarah finally looked at her watch and laughed. "Oh dear. I had an appointment two hours ago." She put the book she had been reading in her purse and stood up, leaning down to stroke Steve's face and kiss his forehead. "See you soon, my love."

Bucky stood to see her out and she hugged him again. This time, Bucky hugged her back, as well as he could with one arm. "You should read to him. Let him hear your voice."

"Maybe I will," Bucky said but he wasn't sure if that was a little strange. Apart from the conversations he had with Steve's friends and family in this room, he had only said one thing directly _to_ Steve since he had been in a coma. But he smiled at Sarah and promised himself that he would try.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Bucky. I hope this isn't the last time we see each other."

Bucky hoped so too.

***

His new apartment was located in an old brownstone a few subway stops from the hospital. At first he had been worried to take the train but he hadn't had any problems at all. In fact, he preferred travelling underground where it felt safe and confined. On the streets above there was too much going on all the time and too many places to try and watch all at once, too many people with unknown agendas.

Furniture had been provided for him as he owned none and it was second hand and worn but comfortable. The only things in the apartment that were his were a collection of books and DVDs and a few small boxes of keepsakes. He had never had much in the way of possessions; his father had died when he was three and his mother when he was six. He had spent his childhood in foster homes and had made sure that all the things that were important to him could be put in a large backpack. There was barely anything in his new place that was particularly personal. There were plates and mugs and glasses and cutlery and bowls, tables and chairs and a bed. Bucky had no idea how to make the apartment _his_ ; he had spent so long in the military with men he considered his family, with barely any personal effects at all that it just confused him now to think that he could buy things just to put in this space. That was all it felt like to him at the moment: A space. Where he existed. He wasn't entirely sure that he was living.

***

Sam came back to the city for a few days, still trying to work his way around miles of red tape, and they visited Steve and then went to lunch.

"You look good," Sam said and tapped Bucky's prosthetic. Bucky liked that Sam wasn't delicate and careful about it like everyone else. "How does it feel?"

"Like dead weight," Bucky answered. _Like me_ , he thought. _Dead weight_.

Sam grinned and crunched on a bread stick. "You'll get used to it. Is that a dumb thing to say?"

"Yep. But you're the only person who says it that I don't want to punch ."

***

Bucky thought about Steve all the time.

***

The first few nights in his new place, Bucky woke up with screams dying on his lips and his body covered in sweat, trembling and afraid. It took him several minutes each time to remember where he was and that he didn't have an arm. He had made to lean on his left arm one night after waking and sitting up, scrubbing his face with his right hand and forgetting - no thanks to phantom pain - that it wasn't there any more and he had face planted straight down onto the mattress. He had laughed hysterically for five minutes before the tears came and then he had cried himself to sleep.

The next evening before he went to bed, Bucky opened his closet and pulled out the few unopened boxes he had shoved back there after moving in. He didn't want to root around in them too much, not ready for the memories that would come, set on finding just one thing. It was there in the first box and he couldn't help the smile that came. It was his favorite cuddly toy that he had owned forever - a worn grey rabbit named, highly originally, Ears. Bucky held Ears close to his chest and sniffed his head. The rabbit smelled musty but familiar and Bucky hugged him, remembering how lumpy his left leg was where the stuffing had migrated and gathered in a clod, how soft Ears's ears were and how he used to rest his chin between them as a kid when he was falling asleep.

Bucky took Ears to bed with him and held him tight, breathing in the toy's comforting scent deeply and he didn't have any nightmares that night.

He didn't think that he would be telling his therapist about it.

***

Bucky decided to read to Steve when he visited and he studied his bookshelf for something to take with him to the hospital. Most of his collection was sci-fi - he had no idea if Steve even liked sci-fi - but that was all he had so he plucked a few volumes to shove in his bag: A Princess Of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Solaris by Stanisław Lem, Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes. He hoped that the books would give him a little more focus than just staring at Steve and running through every possible scenario of what might happen if he ever woke up. He locked his apartment door and headed to the hospital.

It felt weird at first, when he began to read. He started with A Princess Of Mars, stumbling over the first few chapters but then falling into an enjoyable rhythm, remembering why he had loved the series so much as a kid and he gradually started to adopt different voices for each character. He had seen the movie adaptation and enjoyed it but used the voices he had always heard in his head instead.

"You should look into recording audiobooks," an amused voice said behind him.

Bucky jumped and Sharon walked in, smiling and sitting down as she checked Steve's ECG machine. "Carry on, it was good."

Bucky's first instinct was to protest but instead he found his place back on the page and started to read again. "I saw Tars Tarkas rise to speak, and on his face was such an expression as I had never seen upon the countenance of a green Martian warrior..."

He read for twenty minutes until Sharon stretched and stood back up. "You have a nice voice," she said and patted his shoulder as she walked out of the room.

***

Reading to Steve was easy and enjoyable. Bucky had no idea if Steve could hear him but it made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile. The nurses on the fourth floor would often come to hear him read when they had spare moments and he felt an odd kind of pride that they enjoyed listening to him. For the most part, he was alone when he read and he was glad that he had decided to do this. It distracted him from the feelings he was starting to develop for Steve that he didn't want to think about too much.

***

Bucky had just finished dinner and purely by instinct, had reached out with his left hand to pick up his plate and take it to the sink. Instead, the solid fingers of his prosthetic swiped the plate clear off of the small cheap dining table and it smashed on the hardwood floor. Bucky looked down at his false arm in anger and suddenly he fully and totally realized: _My arm is gone_. He would never see the scar on the back of his hand where he had caught it on barbed wire trying to climb over a fence he shouldn't have when he was twelve. He would never see the pattern of moles on his forearm or feel how rough the skin on his elbow was ever again. He would never be able to bite the nails on that hand when he was nervous. He would never get to feel a wedding band on his ring finger. The pressure of guilt for his lost friends, for his lost arm and for Steve that had been building steadily for weeks exploded from him then and he screamed in fury, smashing whatever he could get his hands (hand) on, splintering furniture, emptying cupboards, destroying everything in this place that wasn't his and could never be his because he didn't want any of it.

When he heard the loud banging on his door twenty minutes later, he knew it was the police. By then, he was sitting in the middle of the floor spent and sobbing, simultaneously wishing that he had more to smash and that he hadn't broken anything.

The banging came again. "Police. Please open the door, sir."

Bucky got shakily to his feet. "I'm coming," he called, wiped his face with a dishtowel and took a few deep breaths as he staggered to the door.

When he opened the front door, there were two police officers in the hallway. One of them looked to be in his early to mid fifties while the other was very young, trying to appear confident besides the older cop. A rookie, maybe.

"Sir, we received several calls regarding a disturbance at this address. Are you the occupant of this apartment?" The older cop was firm and a little scary.

Bucky cowered slightly behind the door. "Yes."

"Is there anyone else in the apartment with you?"

"No."

The younger cop gently rested his hand on the nightstick holstered at his side and Bucky stiffened. "Sir, could you open the door fully for us please?"

Bucky opened the door wide and the older cop quickly scanned the mess behind him and was about to say something else when his eyes glanced down and rested on Bucky's left arm. He looked up at Bucky and met his eyes. His face seemed to soften slightly and he turned to the younger cop. "Parker, why don't you go and grab us a couple of coffees from that place on the corner? I'll meet you in the car."

Officer Parker shifted on his feet slightly, looking uncertainly from Bucky back to his partner. "Are you sure, Frank? I can stay..."

"I got it. I don't think this one'll need writing up."

Officer Parker's face knitted in concern but he just nodded and headed off down the hallway.

"I'm Officer Castle. Can I come in?" His voice was less harsh than it had been and there seemed to be an air of understanding about him now.

Bucky nodded and stepped aside. Officer Castle walked in and Bucky closed the door, ashamed by the destruction around them both. The cop looked around at the smashed furniture and turned to Bucky.

"What's your name, son?"

"James Barnes."

"Having a hard time?"

Bucky nodded.

Officer Castle found an unbroken chair from the dining table set and placed it next to the old ratty couch by the window. He indicated for Bucky to sit. Bucky still wasn't too sure what the cop was getting at but he wasn't going to arrest him or report him by the sounds of it so Bucky sat down.

"How long have you been discharged?" Officer Castle asked softly.

Bucky glanced at him. How did he know? "A few months now."

"It feels strange, doesn't it? Like you don't really belong."

Bucky swallowed hard. "Yeah, you got that right." He slumped back against the couch cushions.

"You got anyone you can call?" Officer Castle asked.

"Not really."

"Think you might want to hurt yourself?"

Bucky flinched at the words and stared at Castle, trying to figure out if this was some kind of trap or ploy but the cop was just staring back at him with soft concern. Bucky looked around at his apartment and the damage he had done.

"No. I just...I needed to take it all out on something. I guess a bunch of furniture and plates were the better option."

Officer Castle nodded and he seemed satisfied with Bucky's answer. "You sure there's no-one you can call?"

Bucky thought about Sam and Sarah and even Sharon, but he didn't want to think that they might come if he asked them. He was scared that they wouldn't really care about him in that way and terrified that they might.

"I'll be okay."

"Adjusting back to normal life can be the hardest thing. It was for me, anyway. It can be hard to find reasons to get up in the morning. But you have to find something, even if it's just small like going to feed the birds in the park at the same time every day, or making conversation with the guy at the grocery store. Eventually, the bigger reasons start to work themselves out. Trust me, I've been there."

Bucky rested his elbows, one real, one fake, on his knees. "I have a pretty big reason. I'm just scared that...that _I'm_ not a big enough reason for...everyone else."

Officer Castle folded his arms and waited for Bucky to carry on. Bucky had no idea why he was talking to this guy like this; he wasn't a therapist but...he had obviously been through something similar and that made Bucky feel like he could trust him.

"The guy who saved my life is in a coma, has been since we both came back. No-one knows if he'll ever wake up and I've spent three months getting to know him through his friends and family and questioning whether I was worth saving. He's lying there in a hospital bed and I'm here throwing chairs against the wall and feeling ungrateful for the life he pretty much swapped out his for."

Officer Castle sighed. "Son, everything you're thinking and feeling? Everything you're going through? It doesn't make you a terrible person. It makes you human. You seem to think you're being selfish and you have every right to be. It's your life. No-one else is living it, no-one else knows how you feel. But you can't let the guilt and shame you feel eat away at you because then there will be nothing left and that's no way to live. Does anyone else blame _you_ for the choice this man made?"

"N-no. They don't. They don't even blame him."

"Then start to try and accept that. It's easier to say than to do, I know. But you're allowed to do it. This guy is on your mind a lot?"

Bucky nodded. "I visit him every day and read to him. I'm...I'm just so scared that if he _does_ wake up, he won't know who the hell I am or that I'm not important and was just some guy he got out of the line of fire. It's unhealthy; I've been using him as...as a lifeline for myself." Bucky hadn't quite managed to admit that to himself until now.

Officer Castle rubbed his hand through his short brown hair. "Well, I guess that's just something that time will decide. For now, you can only do what you can do. Hell, that's all any of us can do." He looked around at Bucky's apartment. "Come on, I'll help you tidy this up. As best we can, anyway."

They managed to salvage some items from the mess but most of it was a lost cause. Officer Castle shoved whatever he could into several garbage bags, leaning the rest of what would have to be thrown away against the wall near the front door.

"I think you're going to have to go shopping," he said to Bucky when they had finished.

"It's probably a good idea. None of this was mine to begin with. Maybe it's time I started to make this a home."

Officer Castle opened the front door and then turned back to Bucky, a card in his hand. "This is my number. Call anytime if you want someone to talk to and that's not an empty gesture. Just don't go smashing the place up again. I'll have to take you in otherwise."

Bucky took the card and held out his hand. "Thank you," he said, meaning it.

Officer Castle shook Bucky's hand. "I know everything won't magically heal overnight but it does get better. Believe me." He gave Bucky a nod and walked off down the hallway.

Bucky closed the front door and leaned against it, scanning his apartment. He felt lighter than he had a few hours ago. Not great but...something heavy had been lifted from him. He decided that it was time to try and start living instead of just existing.

***

The next day when he went to see Steve, he didn't pick up the book that was on his bedside table. He sat as close to Steve as he could and stroked his hair, hand trembling, hesitating at first.

"Steve, I...I don't know what to say to you. Thank you for my life. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you and even though everything is still fucked up, even though I won't be okay for a long time, I'm alive and it's because of you." He stopped and took a shuddery breath. "I don't know how to handle...what it is I'm feeling for you right now. I just know that I'll never stop coming here and reading to you. I owe you that for my life. It's all I can do. Thank you, Steve."

Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve on the forehead, just above his eyebrow. He sat back and grabbed the book on the nightstand - The Boys From Brazil by Ira Levin - and started to read.

***

Sam took Bucky to IKEA and he got all new furniture, even a bed. He wanted his life to be his own again and that meant starting with his personal space. The two of them spent a weekend putting together all of the flat-packed furniture, listening to music and drinking beer.

"You know, for a guy with one arm you're pretty good at this DIY stuff." Sam said and laughed when Bucky hit him with a cushion.

Sam was still neither in one place nor the other at the moment but it was looking likely that he would eventually get stationed near the city. He often went with Bucky to see Steve, happy to listen to him read and then they went out for lunch after or hung out at Bucky's apartment. They were watching a baseball game together one evening before Sam had to fly back out the next day when Bucky realized that, slowly and without even really trying, they had become friends.

***

Bucky was with Steve when he woke up.

It had almost been seven months since he had lost his arm and things were still hard; the guilt still shook him but he was trying his best to deal with it and the therapy was helping, even if he didn't always want to admit it. He was starting to cope with his prosthetic but more often than not, preferred not to wear it. He took everything one day at a time and for every three days that were bad, the other four were not exactly good, but he was working on it.

He was meeting Sam for dinner later that day and went to the hospital, greeting the nurses he knew well by now. He settled in his usual chair and flipped open the new book he had bought - Ring by Koji Suzuki - and made a start, used to this strange routine that had become part of his every day life. He had been reading for nearly an hour when he put the book down on his leg for a short break and rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. Bucky ran his hand through his hair and was about to pick the book up again and he froze.

Steve was lying the way he had been for the last seven months but his eyes were open. He was blinking up at the ceiling, a small crease of confusion on his forehead.

Bucky had no idea what to do with himself. He had been dreaming of this moment for months and now that it was here...what should he do? His leg jerked involuntarily and the book on his knee slid to the floor with a muffled crump.

Steve turned his head and looked straight at him. Bucky stopped breathing, not daring to move. He expected Steve to say one of a hundred things: _Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing here?_ Nothing could have prepared him for what Steve finally _did_ say. His voice was thick and cracked from months of disuse and was barely a whisper. But he focused on Bucky and...he smiled. It was small and tired but also happy and full of relief.

"You're okay," he said.

***

Everything happened all at once. Bucky staggered out of Steve's room and shouted for a nurse. Doctors came and Sarah was called and Bucky just watched from the corridor in a haze. There were tests to be run, Steve's physiotherapist who had been working with him throughout his coma came hurtling from her current appointment. There was noise and chatter and more people than Bucky could handle. He knew he was getting in the way so he hurried to the closest waiting room and sat down, still in shock, hand shaking and pulled his phone from his pocket. He called Sam.

"Hey dude," Sam said cheerfully.

Bucky swallowed hard. "Sam? It's...it's Steve."

There was silence for a few seconds. "What is it? Buck, what's happened?" Sam sounded frantic.

"He's awake," Bucky said and burst into tears.

***

Bucky didn't go back to the hospital. For the next few days he stayed in his apartment, away from everyone. _Steve was awake_. He couldn't sleep, just clutched Ears to his chest and wondered what this would mean now. Steve had become such a big part of his life and now...now Steve had his life _back_. Sam tried calling him several times but Bucky either answered and made lame excuses not to talk, hanging up quickly or just didn't answer at all, not wanting to listen to the voicemails Sam left for him. He felt selfish. He felt a whole new kind of guilt. He felt lost.

Four days after Steve had woken up, there was a hard knocking on Bucky's front door. He knew it was Sam before he even opened it.

Sam walked into the living room and turned to face Bucky, hands on his hips. "You look like shit, man."

Bucky just shrugged.

Sam eyed him for a moment and Bucky couldn't read him at all. He wasn't sure if Sam was angry at him or what. He eventually sat down on the couch and patted it. Bucky walked over and sat next to him.

"So. Steve's a little out of it. He's trying to come to terms with having lost seven months of his life but he's responding well to psychological tests. Unfortunately it looks like he's going to have a pretty bad limp for the rest of his life too. There was some nerve and muscle damage in his right leg that wasn't caught and the physio he'd been receiving in the coma might have made things worse. He's officially discharged from the US Military."

Bucky tried to take all of this in. He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment.

"He asks about you all the time," Sam said softly. "He wants to see you."

Bucky hunched in on himself which was harder to do now with just one arm. "What do I say to him?"

"What you've been wanting to say to him for the last seven months," Sam said.

Bucky scrubbed his face. He hadn't shaved for a few days and the stubble was rough and scratchy. "But it's...it's _weird_. I know all about him and he knows nothing about me and I can't just...wade in and...and..."

"It's not weird. He _wants_ to see you."

Bucky shook his head anxiously. "Sam, all this time I've been latching onto him, onto the idea of him and using him as a...I don't know...I'm confused..."

Sam sighed. "Bucky, if you're worried that Steve isn't going to live up to this image you have of him - "

"No, no! It's not that. I'm terrified that I've just been this broken idiot spending all of this time with him and making him a part of my life and he'll see it as creepy and gross and...and..." He was starting to hyperventilate and Sam quickly scooted closer and rubbed his hand in firm circles on Bucky's back.

"Breathe, Buck. It's okay."

"No, it isn't. It isn't."

They sat like that until Bucky felt like he could breathe again. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Please, go and see Steve," Sam said and took Bucky's hand.

***

It took Bucky another two days to work up the courage to finally go back to the hospital. When he got out of the elevator on the fourth floor one of the nurses who had often come to hear him read, Bobbi, was on the front desk. She smiled, glad to see him.

"Bucky, you're back! We all missed you."

He smiled, hoping she couldn't see how nervous he really was. "Things got a little busy."

She pointed down the corridor towards Steve's room. "He just had lunch. Go on down."

Bucky nodded thanks and started off down the corridor, heart racing. Steve's door was open and he approached it slowly and a little cautiously. He peered around it, his throat suddenly dry.

Steve was sitting up in bed and staring down at a tub of jello, as if deciding whether or not to eat it. He looked tired and thinner than Bucky had noticed before. He hadn't quite realized how being in a coma would take its toll on someone physically.

Bucky shuffled into the doorway, clutching the small potted plant he had bought from a flower shop on the way. Steve looked up and his face brightened immediately.

"Hi," he said and his eyes were clear and curious. Bucky had forgotten how blue they were.

Bucky walked into the room and stopped a few feet from Steve's bed. "H-hi." He held up the plant. "I got you this." He placed it on the nightstand.

"Thanks," Steve said and reached out to brush the leaves of the plant with his fingers. "Pull up a chair."

Bucky did and sat down. It felt strange to be doing this now that Steve was awake. "How do you feel?" he asked. He wondered if Steve felt as odd as he did.

Steve sighed and leaned back against his pillows. "Good, I guess? A little bewildered, I'm not going to lie. I'm...I'm scared to sleep, just in case I don't wake up again. Dumb, right?" He smiled at Bucky but it seemed forced this time.

Bucky shook his head. "Not dumb at all."

Steve chewed on his lip and seemed to be trying to order his thoughts. "I'm so sorry. About your arm," he said, his voice was low and full of regret. "I'm so sorry I didn't think things through and you ended up getting hurt. If only I had thought to get to better cover. I should have had a better plan. If only I hadn't - "

"Why are you apologizing?" Bucky interrupted with a choked sob, unable to hold it back. Steve looked at him in surprise. "You saved my fucking life. You...you pulled me out of there and ended up in a fucking coma for _seven months_ and you're apologizing to _me_?" The tears streamed down his cheeks and he cried loud and wet, trying to cover his face with his one hand. He leaned forward until he felt Steve's bed on his forehead and his face was hidden, his shoulder's shaking and his throat hurting.

After a moment, there was a hand on the back of his head, gentle and comforting. "It's going to be okay," Steve said softly and he let Bucky cry.

***

"What was it like?" Bucky asked. He was holding a mug of hot green tea that Bobbi had made for him; they didn't let him drink the crap from the vending machines anymore. He had cried for a while, Steve's hand stroking his head the whole time and for a little while after the tears had stopped too and it should have been weird - Steve didn't even _know_ him - but it wasn't.

"What was what like?" Steve said.

"Being in the coma. Did you dream? Could you hear things?"

Steve shifted so that he was on his side facing Bucky fully, his head against the pillows and thought for a moment. "I think I dreamed. I can't remember but it felt like I did. There was a lot of static. Like, white noise? I could hear things but it all sounded like it was coming through on a bad radio station. It was nice though. I think I knew that people were here with me and that I wasn't on my own."

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his tea.

"Sam told me you came here every day."

Bucky stared down into his mug, watching the few loose leaves of tea that had made it through the strainer floating lazily in the pale liquid. "Is that weird?"

When Steve didn't answer straight away, Bucky looked up. Steve was smiling at him.

"No, Bucky. It isn't weird."

***

Bucky went to see Steve every day after that. His doctors wanted to keep him under observation and there was still a lot of work to do, more tests, new physiotherapy. Steve was still adapting to the loss in time and he was scared to sleep, a lot more than he had confided in Bucky that first day they had met each other again and it was something he needed to work through. Bucky knew how he felt - he had been through similar - and offered to be there every step of the way with him and Steve accepted.

They got to know each other. Steve talked about himself and Bucky was happy to listen even though he already knew most of it through stories from Sam and Sarah. It was nice to hear it all from Steve though; he was every bit as Bucky imagined he would be and it filled him with equal parts excitement and fear. He found it harder to talk about himself but Steve encouraged him and listened with interest. He was quick to laugh despite what he had been through and was going through and Bucky felt at ease whenever he was with him. Much like with Sam, they seemed to be slipping into an easy friendship.

But after three weeks Bucky started to doubt himself and couldn't sleep, suddenly worried about the unconventional relationship between them. He was still plagued with his own guilt for the men in his unit and didn't want to think that he was trying to be Steve's friend because of the guilt he might still carry for him. He wondered if Steve felt the same - if the remorse he felt over Bucky losing his arm was spurring him on to be Bucky's friend. The next day when Bucky went to the hospital, he was quiet and reserved. They went for a walk outside, Steve was using crutches to help take the pressure off of his bad leg and they found a bench to sit down on, enjoying the nice weather that had finally broken through the last few weeks of rain. Steve asked Bucky what was wrong.

"I don't want you to be offended when I ask you this but...well, now it already sounds like I'm going to offend you. Shit."

"Just ask it," Steve said with a crooked smile.

"I don't want you to think that I'm trying to be your friend just because I...I feel bad about what happened to you. I've been trying to deal with guilt over a lot of things since I came back here and while I've accepted certain things, I'm still trying to reconcile others. I don't want us to feel like we owe each other anything because of what happened. I guess what I want to ask is...you're not just being nice to me because you feel bad about me losing my arm, are you?"

Steve was quiet for a moment and Bucky tried not to panic until he spoke.

"No, I'm not," Steve finally answered. "I want to get to know the man who stayed by my bedside and read a ton of books to me while I was in a coma and who my family and friends think is one of the best men they've ever met."

Bucky knew he was telling the truth. Relief washed over him and the fear that he had been feeling melted away. When Steve took Bucky's hand and squeezed it, Bucky squeezed back. Neither of them let go.

***

Steve was released from the hospital two months after he had woken up from his coma. He went home to live with his mom while he tried, like Bucky had, to figure out his new life and how he should live it. Sam was finally stationed just outside of the city and the day Steve was finally free of his hospital bed, leaner than he was nine months ago and walking with a noticeable limp, he came over with Bucky and a few six packs of beers and a ton of Steve's favorite take-out. Sarah hugged Bucky and he could see the gratitude in her eyes.

Almost a year on from the day that Captain Steven Rogers saved Sergeant James Barnes from being killed, Bucky fully knew that he was in love with Steve. It had nothing to do with guilt or feeling beholden to him for his life. He had fallen completely for this incredible man who was selfless and honest and the kind of person that Bucky wanted to be himself.

Bucky struggled with admitting his feelings and telling Steve how he felt, unsure how to approach the subject or if he even should. They had become close and he didn't want to do anything that may ruin their friendship. As it turned out, he needn't have worried.

Steve eventually found himself a small apartment a couple of subway stops from Bucky's place; it was on the first floor which would be good for his leg - it gave him a lot of trouble, even though he never complained - and Bucky and Sam spent a Saturday helping him move in. Like Bucky, Steve didn't have much in the way of personal possessions and the apartment had come mostly furnished. Sam headed out to get them all some lunch and Bucky opened a box full of kitchenware.

"Where do you want these?" he asked Steve, holding up two mismatched mugs by their handles in his right hand. He had decided that his prosthetic would get in the way more than anything and had left it at his place. 

Steve came over from where he had been putting cutlery into a drawer and opened a few of the kitchen cabinets. "This one should be fine," he said, pointing to the cupboard above Bucky.

Bucky nodded and put the mugs away, about to reach into the box for another when Steve took his hand before he could pick anything else up. Bucky looked at him, thinking for a second that he didn't want the mugs in that cupboard after all but Steve was just smiling, happy and nervous and adorable and Bucky knew.

When Sam came back five minutes later with lunch and found his two best friends kissing in the kitchen, he wasn't surprised and just smiled wide to himself. He cleared his throat noisily, putting the two bags full of sandwiches down on the counter. Bucky and Steve jumped a few feet each at least; Steve immediately turned beet red and Bucky smacked his head on the open cabinet door.

"Don't want to let these meatball subs get cold," Sam said. "You guys can make out later."

***

Bucky awoke to Steve thrashing in his sleep. He was whimpering and Bucky immediately reached to turn on the bedside lamp. They had been together for three months and Steve looked healthy apart from dark circles that sometimes stayed under his eyes for days; he was still afraid to sleep and nightmares when he did sleep were common.

Bucky gently put his hand on Steve's shoulder, applying pressure and shook it gently, not wanting to scare him. It had happened once before and he had always been careful not to pull Steve out of his dreams too harshly.

"Stevie? It's okay, wake up," he said softly. He put his hand on Steve's neck and stroked.

Steve stopped thrashing and rolled over, making unintelligible sounds for a minute. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at Bucky. He always looked so vulnerable coming out of sleep. "Buck? I'm sorry." His voice was thick and Bucky could hear how upset he was.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Bucky said and he scooted back down under the covers and snuggled close to Steve who immediately pressed his face into Bucky's neck, his breath hot. He shook slightly, the way he always did after a nightmare. Bucky kissed the top of Steve's head, his hair smelling faintly of the Australian shampoo he liked so much that reminded Bucky of the bubblegum he used to eat as a kid. "What was it?"

Steve's voice was shuddery when he spoke. "I couldn't move. Everything was black. I couldn't wake myself up."

Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve's arm. "You're awake now, you're okay. I've got you. I won't let you get lost again."

Steve nuzzled into Bucky. "I love you."

"I love you too," Bucky whispered.

"Do you think it gets better?" Steve asked and pulled back to look at Bucky, his eyes sad and tired. "I sometimes feel like it'll never get better."

Bucky thought back to how hopeless he had felt all those months ago, how the people connected to Steve had helped him, even if they didn't fully realize it. He thought about Officer Castle who had talked to him instead of arresting him or any number of things that he could have done and who had been through something similar. He thought about how, for all of those months that Steve had been in a coma, the hope that he would wake up and Bucky could thank him kept him going and gave him purpose and he thought about where they were now. He wasn't fixed, he would never be fixed, not completely, but he was healing. He could help Steve heal too.

"It gets better," he said and held Steve tightly.

 

 


End file.
